It felt like an interminably long time, especially because Etna was the type to kill any conversation or small talk by giving short answers that were impossible to follow up on. I would have thought she didn’t want to chat, but her responses were earnest, and what little I could see of her expression suggested she was trying to be nice and she was pleased and bewildered that we were taking her switch from villain to hero in good stride.

And I wanted to reflect that attitude of hers so much, but I was mostly being quietly down and introspective, all of my defenses up so I could fend off intrusive thoughts. I was doubly annoyed with everything and doubly distracted because I couldn’t fly. I’d stopped flying to try to make an ‘I’m disarming’ point to someone who didn’t see it as me being armed, and I couldn’t conscience using my power until we were away from the highest danger part of the city.

Fuck it. I was grumpy, I was letting myself be grumpy. My ego felt bruised after Mockument had hatched that creation, and I felt so many different instances of bad for people that I felt bad overall.

Felt bad for Kenzie. Felt bad for Tristan. Felt bad for the dozen or so people or families that had seen their cars get trashed and their life’s possessions totaled.

It felt so petty, to go after these guys with half our rationale being to get jewelry and clothes back, but… it was important too.

We found ourselves back outside and the group trudged along sidewalks that hadn’t been cleared of snow in the last day. I spent a minute tuning everything out, my head pounding, my heart trying to channel every bit of negativity into hating the snow and the winter.

As long as the trudge felt, the use of portals had let us cross some surprising ground. Flying, the trip might have taken me fifteen or twenty minutes. As it was, it took maybe twelve, and the rest of the team got to come with.

Etna and I at least floated above the snow, but I flew low enough that my toes trailed in the snow, so I could give Kenzie a hand if she reached up to get over the snowbanks that piled up at each intersection, barring the way to crosswalks.

“Any tips on making weapons with a power?” Tristan asked. Most of the attempts at conversation seemed to be him taking stabs at it.

“Not really,” Etna said, holding up her glass spear, as if to launch into another bit of conversation or explanation.

Nope, her arm dropped.

“I know we come at it from pretty different directions, but there are factors like weight, balance, edges… the sharper the edge, the more brittle it’s going to be.”